The image of a windmill can evoke the idea of fighting for a lost cause
but I am reminded of a hand fan held by Mildred McMann
seated in the middle of the third row of the First Methodist Church.
Maybe the fan had a windmill scene painted on the front
of its cardboard hexagon above its wooden handle or maybe
it was just the movement of that fan in the sweaty hand of Mildred
moving air around and around resembling one of the blades
of a windmill as each blade was moved by the wind.
For what is memory’s relevance but the movement of air.
That hand fan would persist through the opening prayers
the hymns, the responsive reading, the choir’s anthem
the offertory, the sermon, the benediction.
All the rituals that must have shaped my mind.
“like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.”